


courting cream puffs

by latenights



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Concussions, Confessions, Getting Together, M/M, being matsukawa is suffering, oikawa tooru is a terror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenights/pseuds/latenights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Listen. Just be honest with him. He deserves to know right?” And then Iwaizumi flashes him a genuine, not-amused-at-Matsukawa-Issei’s-misfortunes smile and he feels himself relax a little, nodding in agreement. “Besides,” the ace continues. “What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>or alternatively,</p><p>The struggles of one Matsukawa Issei's crush on his best friend, and how he really, really should find new friends to hang out with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	courting cream puffs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milkberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkberry/gifts).



“Stop. Just. Stop please, for the love of god, I feel sick.” Matsukawa turns at the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice, displeasure on his face strong enough that if something he did weren’t the cause of it, he might have asked if Iwaizumi were constipated (physically, though being emotionally so is just a constant in the equation of the being known as Iwaizumi Hajime) and would have probably suffered a jab to the arm for it.

“What are you talking about?”

Iwaizumi waves a hand vaguely around the general vicinity of his face. “This,” he stresses. His arm moves to the direction of empty space where a certain sweets-loving spiker had originally occupied before this charade began. “This thing,” he grits out through his teeth, still waving around.

“Vocabulary words Hajime. Use them.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t get jabbed in the arm for that. Iwaizumi scrunches his nose, deliberating on the most eloquent possible way to express his distaste, at least as eloquent as one Iwaizumi Hajime can get (read: not very much at all). It takes a few moments and Matsukawa even makes a point of checking his invisible Burberry Check Stamped Chronograph Leather Strap Watch on his wrist until Iwaizumi looks him straight in the eye and takes a deep breath.

“Every fucking time Hanamaki looks away or leaves, your face looks like the most kicked, love-sick puppy expression in the whole world and if I squint a little, I can see little hearts shooting from your eyes and this _shoujo_ radiation that you let off every time you see him is so obvious that it’s making me feel ill.” He finishes the whole sentence in one go and proceeds to straighten himself and fold his arms over his desk like he’s conducting the next business meeting to improve sales on Godzilla figures or whatever it is Iwaizumi is into. “Just go out with him already.”

Matsukawa has no idea what he’s talking about. In fact, _maybe_ Hajime should go get his eyes checked because playing volleyball without the right eye wear is very dangerous Hajime, besides even if he did have a blazing crush on Hanamaki, which he doesn’t, don’t you dare say anything Hajime, there is absolutely no way Hanamaki would date him, seeing as he doesn’t know if Hanamaki is even interested in guys, and they’re friends, just friends Hajime, don’t you see, that’s why it won’t work out and he’ll just let things go and move on with his life, and this is all _hypothetical_ of course, very hypothetical.

“Hypothetical. Right,” Iwaizumi says in a tone that meant he was clearly wrong. “And hypothetically the sun will rise tomorrow, hypothetically water is wet, and hypothetically you make Hanamaki cream puffs at home and pretend your mother made too much when you give them to him the next day.”

Matsukawa gapes at him. “How do you—“

“Your mom tells me pretty much everything. She loves me.” The bastard looks so smug about it too. “She gives me sweets to bring home every time I come over.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know how much of an ass you are to me when she isn’t around.” Iwaizumi’s reply to his accusation takes the form of a paper ball to his forehead. He easily dodges the retaliating throw that Matsukawa sends him, laughing at his frustration.

“Listen. Just be honest with him. He deserves to know right?” And then Iwaizumi flashes him a genuine, not-amused-at-Matsukawa-Issei’s-misfortunes smile and he feels himself relax a little, nodding in agreement. “Besides,” the ace continues. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

-

 

“What if he rejects you and then things get awkward between both of you and you guys never, ever talk to each other again. Ever!” Oikawa bemoans dramatically, clutching at his manga with tight fingers. “Shiori-chan, why is your love life so tragic?”

“If you don’t stop talking about that stupid _shoujo_ I’ll-“

“Just because you’re having boy trouble doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me and Shiori-chan.” Oikawa promptly shuts the book and turns over to look at him, completely unimpressed and then shifting to worry. “I haven’t seen you this stressed since Makki hurt himself trying to save Pluto from a tree.”

He recalls the incident quite vividly. First year of high school, Oikawa had lost his cat. Iwaizumi had been at a family reunion a prefecture away, so his help was out of the question. He then called Matsukawa, who was staying over at Hanamaki’s place, and the two trudged out of the comfort of their futons and into the cruel cold of the outside world at 3 am to meet up with their sobbing friend waving his flashlight around and calling out his cat’s name. The search took an hour before Hanamaki found the poor thing shivering in the branches of a tree. He tried to catch it, but as with all animals near Hanamaki’s presence, it kept scooting away from him, making him climb higher against the trunk and weak branches. When he managed to catch it, he fell. Matsukawa and Oikawa had found him on the ground five minutes later, clutching Pluto protectively against his chest while his own ankle was messed up.

“Your cat is just as troublesome as you are,” Hanamaki had teased Oikawa, ignoring his leg as they both fussed over him. Matsukawa remembers the swell and ugly discoloration of his ankle, remembers frantically checking over the rest of him, elbows, hands, head, concussion, all the while Hanamaki laughed and told him he worried too much. His friend was more concerned with the cat trying to find warmth in the bundle of his jacket.

He might have liked Hanamaki that night.

“I’m not stressed,” Matsukawa says, maybe a little too defensively. Oikawa tuts disapprovingly, even making a show of crossing his legs and waving a dismissive finger to emphasize his point. Or maybe just to look even more dramatic, as per the Oikawa Tooru reputation.

“Mattsun, Mattsun, Mattsun. You can’t keep lying to yourself like this. Even little kids can notice just how much you like Makki! Just ask Kunimi-chan and Kindaichi!”

“They’re both 15.”

“Like I said, little kids!”

Matsukawa wonders if he should tell the first years about what Oikawa just said about them. Maybe they’ll be more inclined to join him when he eggs Oikawa in the near future for putting his nose into his (lack of) love life. “I don’t know if you’re trying to help me or make fun of me. Probably both.”

Oikawa nods. “You’re right. Both.” His smile turns mischievous and terrifying, the way it is when he catches members skipping out on practice to dick around somewhere. “And until you get your gay feelings resolved with Makki, I’ll keep annoying you about it. My way, of course.”

Matsukawa buys two cartons of eggs on the way home.

 

-

 

_‘Which sounds nicer to you? HanaMatsu or MatsuHana?’_

He finds the note in his shoe locker at the end of the day, written in Oikawa’s bubbly handwriting with little heart doodles over it. Matsukawa rips it out from where it sticks and as he’s planning on how long he should let the eggs spoil before chucking them at his captain, Kunimi is looking over his shoulder, expression placid as always.

“HanaMatsu sounds better,” his underclassman simply says and walks away.

 

-

 

Being part of the famous Seijou VBC has its perks, one being that the other students just automatically leave a corner of the roof alone for them to use, so the third year quartet are never in need for a place to eat or for privacy. Oikawa takes advantage of this as they all settle down for lunch.

“Mattsun that looks really good!” the captain exclaims, pointing at Matsukawa’s box eagerly with his chopsticks. Matsukawa has to pull his secretly loving gaze away from his best friend and Iwaizumi tries not to gag at the sincerity of it. Oikawa doesn't mention the look but continues on. “You’re such a good cook. Isn’t he, Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi looks up confusedly from where he’s eating, mouth open and noodles dangling off his own chopsticks in the air.

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah. He is,” Iwaizumi says finally, after Oikawa keeps his frozen smile trained onto him. “He makes his own stuff every day.”

Oikawa nods, appeased. “Cooking skills. It’s just a good thing to have in a boyfriend in general, don’t you agree Makki?”

Matsukawa knows what he’s fucking doing, and he knows that Oikawa knows and that Iwaizumi knows that he knows, because Oikawa is grinning at him like he’s just stolen from the Imperial Palace and won’t get caught for it. Iwaizumi switches his gaze between them, amused but also ready to intervene if Matsukawa decides to stop living under the tyranny of Oikawa Tooru’s plans. Not that he would do anything. It would make Hanamaki suspicious, and Oikawa is aware of it. That damn bastard, always ten steps ahead.

“I’m just glad he lets me steal from him,” Hanamaki says with a shrug, as he swipes some pickled vegetables from Matsukawa. “He doesn’t give me hell for it, unlike you two selfish asses.” Oikawa pouts and Iwaizumi clutches tighter onto his lunch, guarding it.

“Practically married,” the ace mutters under his breath. Luckily, neither Hanamaki nor Oikawa hear it because Hanamaki continues taking Matsukawa’s food and Oikawa clasps his lunch box shut without adding onto the ammunition Iwaizumi just quietly offered.

“You should appreciate Mattsun more, Makki,” Oikawa says seriously, in the tone of a stern parent. “He’s tall, he can cook, he’s nice, he’s athletic, he-“

“How about we just eat and not do this, Tooru.” His voice almost sounds pleading but he refuses to admit he’s begging.

Oikawa waves him off dismissively. “No need to get embarrassed, Mattsun. I’m sure Makki is aware of all your perks, right Makki?”

He’s sure Hanamaki is about to make some joking remark or just dismiss the topic as it being another one of Oikawa’s weird conversational quirks, but then he says, “Yeah, I know” with a slight hint of pride and Matsukawa’s heart stops beating altogether. His lunch slips from his grasp and Hanamaki shouts and catches it in time, cooing over the food’s near-death experience. Iwaizumi is matching his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare.

Oikawa looks over at him and winks.

 

-

 

When he opens his shoe locker two days later, envelopes and candies spill out, scattering at the floor around his feet like a flood. Hanamaki peeks his head around the corner at the sound and whistles, impressed. Oikawa comes by at the suspiciously right time (with Iwaizumi behind him) and has the audacity to look surprised. “Mattsun, you’re so popular!” he exclaims, gesturing to the pink letters and candies making a mess on the ground. They’re probably fake and empty on the inside, or just Oikawa’s own fan letters that he’s somehow stuffed into his locker, but either way, this whole charade is fucking ridiculous. Behind Oikawa, Iwaizumi shakes his head.

 _‘Should have been honest,’_ the ace mouths silently to him.

 

-

 

As annoying and mortifying as it is, Matsukawa has to say, he’s a little awed at the efforts and lengths Oikawa is going to ruin his life. The flowers on his desk are nearly the same shade as the pink of Hanamaki’s hair. He wonders how long his captain spent at the florist to pick it out just for the sake of utterly embarrassing him. But also, how did he manage to memorize Hanamaki’s hair color for something like this? It’s a question he realizes he _doesn’t_ want to know the answer to.

“They look nice.” Matsukawa nearly jumps at the sudden voice behind him. Hanamaki pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s only me. Sorry to scare you.” His friend looks over the peonies, thumbing at the petals. “You know who the sender is?”

“No,” Matsukawa lies.

“They must be a romantic,” Hanamaki mutters absentmindedly.

 _‘More like a curse,’_ Matsukawa wants to say but keeps his mouth shut. He reaches over to take the flowers and stuffs them into his bag. Suddenly, Hanamaki’s hand closes around his wrist to stop him.

“Easy there. You don’t wanna ruin them.” He gently tucks the peonies in himself; the action reminds Matsukawa of the way he had petted Pluto in that accident two years ago. The memory sends something warm stirring in his chest.

 _‘Big gay crush Mattsun,’_ the annoying Oikawa voice echoes in his head. He imagines throwing the Oikawa in his mind into the sun. Even when he’s not around he still manages to embarrass him.

He snaps back to reality when Hanamaki hands him his bag. Matsukawa mumbles a quick thanks as he takes it and they walk together to the gym. Hanamaki, he realizes after a while, is unusually quiet today. Normally, it would be Hanamaki talking until he pulls a conversation out of Matsukawa, and they would both joke and prod at each other until they arrived at the club room. The still air around them now makes him feel uncomfortable.

“Something wrong, Hiro?”

Hanamaki looks up, lips curling into an assuring smile. “Nah. Just tired. Don’t worry about it.” Before he can ask more, his friend disappears into the club room to greet the rest of the team.

 

-

 

“Don’t worry about it he says,” Matsukawa mutters to himself as he’s fixing his shoe lace on the sidelines of the court. “Obviously I’m gonna worry if you say ‘don’t worry’, damn it Hiro.”

“Even for you, talking to yourself makes you look really weird,” Iwaizumi remarks, coming up in front of him. Matsukawa would make a height joke while he’s kneeled down but he thinks he’ll end up more on the floor for it so he keeps it to himself.

“Something’s wrong with Takahiro and he’s not telling me.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Trouble in paradise?” He stops when Matsukawa glares at him. “Just give him a bit of time, then ask him again,” he offers seriously. “You guys are best friends. He’ll tell you eventually.”

Maybe it’s out of pity for suffering Oikawa’s little pranks that makes him less intent on ruining Matsukawa’s life too, but Matsukawa has never been more thankful for Iwaizumi Hajime than he is at that moment.

 

-

 

Two quick practice matches later and he decides it’s enough time for Hanamaki to stew in his feelings. He catches his friend at the bench, drying himself off with a towel and before Hanamaki can even open his mouth to ask what he wants, Matsukawa cuts in.

“If something’s wrong, you can tell me.” His voice is soft to make up for the abrupt interruption. Hanamaki shoves lightly at his shoulder, laughing.

“I’m fine, damn it. Didn’t I already tell you? You worry too much.”

“But—“

“Matsukawa watch o—“

Matsukawa doesn’t have time to hear the rest of Hanamaki’s warning because a sudden meteorite comes crashing down at the back of his head. Probably a deity’s punishment that Oikawa had prayed for or something. It hurts like hell, his whole head throbbing, his vision spinning around until it blacks out and the last thing he sees is the floor.

It’s not a very comfortable floor.

 

-

 

Matsukawa Issei is dead.

At least, he’s pretty sure he is. He registers a few things at a time when he opens his eyes. He’s lying on his back. On a hard floor. The lights are white and bright and almost blinding from where he is. Above him, two figures hover in his line of vision. The one with wavy auburn hair is very loud. His eyes move to focus on the one with odd pink hair and Matsukawa feels his lips stretch into a smile.

“An angel,” he whispers wistfully.

“Holy fuck he’s completely lost it,” Iwaizumi says, horrified. Oikawa turns to the ace, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What if he’s lost his memory Iwa-chan?” His eyes dilate and his hands start shaking. “And then he won’t remember any of us and we won’t be friends anymore and we can’t play volleyball, and even worse, I won’t get to eat his milk bread anymore, and it’ll be all my fault!” His voice escalates in volume and hysteria as he goes on, fingers an iron grip in Iwaizumi’s shirt. “I have to bury the evidence, all of you are witnesses here—“

“He’s not dead from your serve Oikawa,” Hanamaki cuts in. “You didn’t murder anyone besides his dignity anyway. I’ll take him to the nurse’s office.” Behind them, the second years and first years are keeping their distance but still murmur amongst each other in concern. The coach shushes all of them and nods at Hanamaki.

“Might as well take him home too, just in case he has a concussion.” Irihata gives Oikawa a pointed glare which the captain shrinks under.

“I’ll go too,” Oikawa offers but Iwaizumi grabs his arm and shakes his head. _‘It’ll be good for them to be alone,’_ he somehow sends the message via telepathy or whatever the hell phenomenon it is that occurs between said captain and vice, and Oikawa relents. “Alright, then. I’ll stay.”

The coach orders everyone to get back to practice. As the rest of the team returns to their positions, Hanamaki pushes Matsukawa to sit up and stand up so he can take both of them where they need to go. For once, Matsukawa being tall does not help in the situation, and his limbs just stay limp, bearing his body down onto Hanamaki. Even after many fruitful efforts when he’s up and standing, Matsukawa just leans his weight against him and he wonders if this was on purpose or not. Judging by the distant look in his eyes and the confused pull of his frown, probably not. It takes lots of staggering and prompting Matsukawa to go this way, this way damn it no not the stairs, you’ll fall, and dragging to finally bring Matsukawa to the infirmary. The nurse looks him over and purses her lips.

“Do you have a fever Hanamaki-kun?”

“No, I’m just red and sweaty from dragging this lamp post all the way here.” He nods towards said lamp post, the very hunched over and confused lamp post sitting on the bed. She leans over to inspect him, scribbling down some notes but then someone else enters and promptly vomits into the trash bin at the entrance. Excusing herself to deal with the more urgent matter, she leaves the two alone, closing the curtain screen around the bed so they don’t have to deal with the horror known as the stomach flu. Hanamaki wrinkles his nose at the sounds.

“At least you don’t have that.” He turns to Matsukawa to tease him more, but finds his wide, puppy-eyed gaze intense on him. It’s a little unnerving. “Something wrong?”

“Takahiro,” Matsukawa starts and tugs at his hand. “There’s something on my shirt.” Hanamaki has doubts about Matsukawa’s line of thinking but touches his shirt anyway, at the sleeve.

“I don’t see anything on here.”

Matsukawa grins up at him, like he’s keeping a well-hidden secret. “It’s boyfriend material.”

There are several well-known facts about Hanamaki Takahiro. He would do almost anything for a cream puff. He is second only to Iwaizumi Hajime in arm wrestling. Secretly, or so he thinks, he can knit pretty damn well. He does not ever get caught off guard by his own best friend, because 11 times out of 10, he can pretty much guess what Matsukawa is thinking.

Yet here he is, mouth hanging open just as his breath decides to make a pit stop in his throat, staring at the guy in front of him as if he’s suddenly gotten his head decapitated. Said guy reaches up and gently pushes his jaw shut, chuckling.

“Don’t keep your mouth open. I don’t want you catching anything besides my love.”

Hanamaki rubs his fists into his eyes. “Iwaizumi was right. You’ve completely lost it.”

“Only lost without you,” Matsukawa adds.

“Fuck.”

“I’m not moving that fast Hiro, slow down.”

Hanamaki covers his face and laughs, cackles almost. He’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts and tears start leaking out of his eyes. Matsukawa thinks he might have broken him.

“This is actually happening,” Hanamaki gasps out when he’s regained enough composure to make a full sentence. “This is a thing that’s happening, oh my god. You have a goddamn concussion, I swear.”

“Then,” Matsukawa says slowly, concentrating hard. “Only because I’ve fallen head first for you.” He proudly pats himself on the shoulder for that one.

A short silence passes as Hanamaki regards him intently, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “You’re being serious, aren’t you? Not just doing it for shits and giggles?”

“I’m not shitting or giggling.”

“You know what I mean you ass.” He flicks Matsukawa on the forehead but the other doesn’t complain. He just grabs Hanamaki’s wrist and keeps it there, leaning into his touch. "You're gay," Hanamaki says, neither in confusion nor disgust, but in wonder.

“Matsukawa Issgay,” Matsukawa mutters in reply and laughs to himself. Hanamaki ends up laughing along too, always amused with his puns, no matter how awful and cringeworthy. He doesn’t pull away his hand from where Matsukawa keeps it in place; instead, he runs his fingers through his hair, admiring the dark locks.

“For some reason I thought Oikawa had a crush on you,” Hanamaki speaks up after a while, not meeting his gaze. “And maybe that you liked him too. I was a little upset about that, I guess.”

Oikawa? Oikawa having a crush on him? The chances of giant eldritch-alien monsters attacking their city was more likely than that happening. “How come?” And then, "Wait you were upset over that?"

"I like you, you dork," he admits quietly with a shrug, still combing through his hair. “The conversation at lunch, the candies in your locker, the flowers on your desk. Thought that was his weird way of confessing to you. Although, your way is pretty weird too.” He turns and smiles crookedly at Matsukawa. “It’s cute though."

Like. Matsukawa closes his eyes, trying to contain the excitement that single word brings him. He digs into his mind for another pick up line, one to really sweep Hanamaki off his feet.

“I thought I died and went to heaven—“

“—but heaven came to you instead,” Hanamaki finishes for him. Matsukawa peers up at him and grins.

“Are you accepting then?” he asks, voice hopeful.

Hanamaki pulls his hand away to twine their fingers together.

“How could I ever say ‘no’ to a confession like this?”


End file.
